A Supper Club is not a Club: Shady Sue's

After co-owning a house on Lake Emma just outside of my hometown Rhinelander, Wisconsin, I and two of my sisters found it to be, sadly, time to sell this property.  So my trip home this summer was bittersweet.  I'm sure I'll be back to the Northwoods some day, but for now I wanted to celebrate some of the wonderful meals we had this summer with this, the first of several blog entries.

Shady Sue's is a supper club.  If you're not from the Midwest, you might ask, "What is a supper club?"  And in some ways, that's a difficult question to answer.

Some food historians say that the term originated either during Prohibition or after when liquor licenses were granted to dining establishments outside of city limits.

Although you don't have to be a "member" of a supper club to dine there, these usually family-owned restaurants perpetuate a strong sense of place, history and community.

(For a more complete and thoughtful exploration of supper clubs, I suggest The Supper Club Book: A Celebration of a Midwest Tradition by Dave Hoekstra.)

Not unlike many Northwoods supper clubs, the bar at Shady Sue's takes up most of the restaurant's space.  This large horseshoe is surrounded by a semi-circle of dining tables that seat, at most, 40 diners.

Although you can make reservations at many supper clubs, I prefer not to because sitting at the bar, ordering a cocktail, perusing the menu while you wait for your table is, to me, part of the whole supper-club experience.

My husband and I did just that--sat at the bar until a table was ready for us.  Ordering a martini and an Old Fashioned, we didn't mind that the bartender, an older, serious gentleman, told us we'd have a 45-minute wait.

But first, the Old Fashioned--the signature drink of many supper clubs and the unofficial state cocktail of Wisconsin. (Check out this article for confirmation of that claim.) This cocktail is a combination of liquor, sugar or simple syrup, bitters, mixer, and a garnish and is usually served on ice.  

However, an Old Fashioned needs to be ordered properly.  

First, you name your liquor.  Brandy is the preferred option (Wisconsin consumes more brandy than any other state in the U.S.), but bourbon is a second option.  Any thing else (gin, tequila) is just not an Old Fashioned, in most people's opinion.  

Then you name the drink:  Old Fashioned.  Then you name your mixer.  "Sweet" means 7-Up, "sour" means sour mix, "soda" is seltzer, and "press" is a mix of seltzer and lemon-lime soda.  

So a common and correct order would be, "I'd like a brandy Old Fashioned sweet."  

After that, your bartender will probably ask you what you want for a garnish--the traditional orange slice and maraschino cherry (often muddled in the bottom of the glass) or, less commonly, olives or mushrooms, which I think is just wrong.

I ordered a martini, another supper club classic--gin, dry, slightly dirty--and we proceeded to settle in for a comfortable wait.

Another older couple were sitting at the bar on the right side of the "horseshoe," and the husband turned to me and asked, "How did you find this place?"

When I said, "I grew up here," I didn't mean that I grew up in Rhinelander.  I literally meant that I grew up at this bar in this restaurant.  

Shady Sue's, formerly known as South 17, was a favorite dining spot for my parents back in the 50s and 60s.  The owners back then, Ted and Emily Perlberg, would even let my parents "park" me in a back room in my bassinet while they ate their dinner.  

Some of my earliest childhood memories are of sitting at the bar, pretty much where I was sitting there this night, with my family.  I particularly remember sitting next to my dad's mom and begging her for the liquor-soaked cherries from her Manhattan.  

This is probably where I and most of my siblings fell in love with shrimp as South 17's were deep-fried, delicious, and served with a very horseradish-y cocktail sauce.  

When we were seated, on the table was the ubiquitous supper club basket of crackers and bread sticks, here with a honey-butter spread.  It's not gourmet, but it does help take the edge off the hunger while you wait for your first course.

For his first course, my husband chose the soup of the day which was a creamy house-made mushroom soup.  

I chose the house salad.  Gone are the days of the supper club iceberg lettuce salad.  My salad consisted of an assortment of greens, baby carrots, sliced radishes, sliced mushrooms, and sliced peppers.  Dressing on the side, thank you.

For his entrée my husband chose the perch and said it was tender, mild-flavored and crispy.  OK, the crinkle-cut French fries were probably not house-made, but note the little "turned carrot" garnish. 

I went for the . . . shrimp.  These were not shrimp.  These were mini-lobsters!  My husband keeps insisting they were "langostinos."  All I know is that they were HUGE and perfectly cooked.  I only wish they had been served with a hot butter dip.  I will dream of these for a long time!

The appropriate ending for a meal at a supper club is an ice cream drink.  Not many restaurants or bars in the South do a proper ice cream drink--lots of ice cream and booze whirred up in an industrial-strength blender.  

(Ice cream drink sidebar:  When I was a kid, my parents gave me two birthday celebration options:  a party with my friends or a dinner out with them by myself.  As the oldest of five children,I usually chose the dinner alone with my parents.  More than once, my birthday dinner ended with generous sips from a Grasshopper.  Don't judge.  Those were simpler times, people.)

At Shady Sue's you can choose from a Grasshopper, a Pink Squirrel, or a Golden Cadillac, just to name a few.  We chose to share a Brandy Alexander, and it was as beautiful as it was tasty.  

When, in the not too distant future we hope, we return to visit Rhinelander, Wisconsin, I will undoubtedly return to this classic supper club.